and sure, attending a funeral or a celebration of life is a big ask — of anyone, let alone someone who, as a medical professional, often awkwardly straddles the roles of caregiver, family acquaintance, hero. one who probably doesn’t have intimate knowledge of the patient, and yet has met partners and children, and most importantly, shared the final vulnerable moments of their loved one’s life. like the doctor at dinner said, it could be awkward.
but not even a card?
the last time i saw my brother alive, we were in an examining room with his specialist who had been treating him for about five years. he had other doctors too, but she was the main one, the one with the most expertise, the one who passed him a kleenex when tears rolled down his cheeks after she told him his prognosis. she was also the one who investigated new drugs and clinical trials, who offered encouragement and answered his emails. she knew about his children and joked about his tattoos. that day, she carefully promised that she’d try to give him a year.
u.s. guidelines recommend health-care professionals communicate with family of the deceased
he died four days later unexpectedly, and we never heard from her again. my mom did, however, open an envelope about week afterwards to find a sympathy card from another doctor who had also known my brother. and despite the tears her words brought my mom, the card was a welcome reassurance that there were people who genuinely cared for her son. that he mattered.